The Wistful Crossroads

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-18 22:59:28 -

The mist tasted of iron. I woke in the grass. It was not my bed. It was not my room. The sky above was a bruised purple, heavy with stars that did not blink. They hung there, fixed, like nails in wood. I sat up. My knees hurt. I looked at my hands. They were small. I am ten years old. I know this. The bones are right. The skin is thin. I remembered my name. I remembered the house. I remembered...

0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare